


catching planes and writing things down

by Rhiannon87



Series: Some Sort of Crazy [ARCHIVED] [5]
Category: Uncharted
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:57:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiannon87/pseuds/Rhiannon87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The physical healing turns out to be the easiest part. Everything else is way more complicated. Nate and Elena, recovering in a lot of ways after Uncharted 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	catching planes and writing things down

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to beltsquid for helping me fix the opening scene. The title comes from [this poem](http://rhiannon42.tumblr.com/post/47459886925).

Nate loses track of the number of buses, trains, and planes involved in the journey from Nepal to Beijing. Once they arrive, none of them have energy for much besides renting hotel rooms. Elena makes it into bed before him, and by the time Nate slides under the covers, he's pretty sure she's asleep.

At least, he's sure until she rolls onto her side to face him. “Nate?”

“Mm?”

Elena sighs, and as his eyes adjust to the dark, Nate can see her picking anxiously at the blanket. “D'you know if Sully's bought the tickets for the flight to Florida yet?” she asks after a few moments.

Nate shakes his head. “Not sure,” he says. “I don't think so. Why?”

She sighs again. “Can I-- would it-- would you mind if I crashed with you for a while?” she asks. Nate blinks at her. That's a bit unexpected. Not that he minds, of course, but-- “I just, I'm just not ready to go home yet,” Elena continues, all in a rush, apparently interpreting his silence as uncertainty. “If I go home, I have to deal with work and everything that happened, and I'm...” She trails off and shakes her head. Then, before Nate can speak, she adds in a near-whisper, “I'm not quite ready to be alone yet.”

Something sort of cracks in Nate's chest, and he instinctively shifts closer to her. “Of course you can,” he says, reaching out to run his fingers through her hair.

She smiles at him, relieved, and nods. “I won't stay too long,” she says. “I just--”

“Elena, it's fine,” Nate says. “You can stay as long as you want.” And, hell, if she can trust him with all that, tell him what's scaring her, he can... he can tell her _something_ that matters. “I'm not ready to be alone yet, either,” he admits.

Her smile softens a bit, and she scoots closer, tucks her head against his chest and wraps an arm around his waist. Nate presses a kiss to her hair and cautiously curls his arm around her, careful to avoid the bandages and fresh scars on her left side.

*

Sully arranges a layover in L.A., so Elena does go back home, though just long enough to grab her laptop and pack some clothes. Then the three of them pile onto yet another plane across the country to Key West. Nate gives Sully a hug goodbye and promises to call him soon, then gets a cab. It's only ten minutes from the airport to his place. Elena dozes off in the backseat anyway.

Once they're at his apartment, Nate manages to get her to take off her boots and jeans before she passes out again, curled up in his bed. He sits on the edge of the mattress and watches her sleep. He's so, so lucky that she's here. Lucky that she's alive and that she wanted to give this relationship of theirs another chance.

After a while, he gets up and goes to investigate the rest of his apartment. The trash and fridge are both empty-- Sully's handiwork, no doubt. Otherwise, everything is just as he left it, save for a thin layer of dust. It's been over four months since he was home for any length of time. He travels a lot, yeah, but he's never been gone this long. Nate wanders around, idly straightening up and poking at his belongings like they're someone else's things.

Eventually, Elena wakes up and takes a shower; Nate takes one too and whines when he finds that she's used all the hot water. They order pizza for dinner and compare bruises while some mindless action movie plays on TV. This time, Nate's the one to doze off, and Elena prods him awake as the credits roll.

She’s gone from the bed when Nate wakes up the next morning, which is a shame, because he’s feeling about a thousand times better. He finds her in the kitchen, munching on cold pizza and staring forlornly at his empty fridge. “You have nothing to eat,” she tells him.

He yawns and points at the pizza box. “There’s pizza.”

“Not anymore,” Elena replies. Oh, hell no, she didn’t—Nate sputters at her for a second before opening up the box to see another two slices left. She laughs, and he makes a face at her. “You do need to get food, though,” she says.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Nate says, grabbing a slice for himself. “After breakfast.”

They finish the pizza, then Nate races Elena to the shower, cheerfully abusing his height to get to the bathroom before her. When she pouts at him, he suggests they shower together; she hesitates for a second, then brushes him off. He tries not to worry too much about what that might mean.

Despite his plans, Nate puts off leaving his apartment for a while. Elena digs out her laptop and spends some time frowning at her e-mail. Nate follows suit, then has to keep himself from having a heart attack when he sees the state of his various bank accounts. Sully hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said he’d gone through the rest of Nate’s money. He’s gonna need to find work very soon.

Eventually, Elena calls her producer, and Nate tries not to eavesdrop too obviously. She negotiates another few weeks off, then hesitantly asks about Jeff’s funeral. She looks both guilty and relieved when she finds out she missed it. When she hangs up, she wordlessly latches onto Nate and buries her face in his chest. He just holds her and doesn’t press for details, which is probably why it takes him a while to realize she’s fallen asleep again. Nate settles her in on the couch, and she wakes up just enough for him to tell her he’s running out to the store.

They order takeout again, because despite having food in the house neither of them feels like cooking, and spend most of the evening cuddling on the couch and watching movies. Nate's happy enough about the cuddling that he doesn't complain about Elena's choice in films. Much. When the last (horribly inaccurate) heist movie ends, Nate presses a kiss to Elena's temple. “Ready to go to bed?” he murmurs, idly running his fingers up and down her arm. It's been a long time since they last slept together, and while Nate’s hardly been celibate that whole time... he's missed _her_.

She sighs and turns to look up at him. “Yeah, but... just to sleep, I think,” she says with a faint wince.

Nate can't quite keep the disappointment off his face, but he nods. “Okay.”

“It's not that I don't want to, but...” She gestures at her left side. “I-I'm not...” Elena looks away, frowning. “I'm sorry--”

Nate puts his fingers to her lips to cut off any further apologies. “It's okay,” he says. “Really.” Elena smiles faintly; he drops his hand and leans in to kiss her. He means for it to be quick, but Elena curls her hand against his jaw and tilts her head to the side, her lips parting as she deepens the kiss. Nate can't entirely help the choked moan that escapes him, and he slides an arm around her, trying to be careful of the still-healing wounds on her skin.

They eventually come up for air, but neither of them moves away. Nate leans his forehead against hers, his eyes still closed and her breath warm on his skin. If there was ever a moment to just _tell_ her-- he takes a breath to speak, but the words won't come.

Elena brushes her fingers against his cheek, then pulls away, and Nate reluctantly opens his eyes. “C'mon,” Elena says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “We should sleep. Before I change my mind and end up hurting myself.”

“Yeah.” Nate nods and takes a deep breath. Right. Sleep. He can do that.

*

The next few days pass slowly. It's a little strange, after the last month of chasing after Flynn and Lazarevic and Shambhala, but not necessarily bad. He needs to catch his breath, metaphorically speaking. He and Elena both need to heal.

So they hang around his apartment, take a lot of naps, watch a lot of movies. Elena randomly borrows one of his books on Incan history and teases him about the corrections he's penciled in the margins. Nate calls Chloe, just to check in, and leaves a message that she returns at about one in the morning. Time zones are tricky, apparently. Eventually Elena gets stir-crazy and drags him out to one of Key West's beaches; this time of year it's too cold for swimming, but she seems content just to wander around with him, hand-in-hand, and talk about nothing important. They haven't really talked about what happened in Shambhala, or their relationship, or the future. And Nate knows they'll have to, eventually, but for now he's happy to keep avoiding all of it.

The night after their impromptu beach trip, Nate flops down on his bed and flings one arm out, waiting for Elena to join him. She flicks off the light and climbs into bed, but instead of curling up against his side like normal, she leans over him, her fingers brushing against his jaw as she presses a kiss to his mouth. She draws back after a few moments, and Nate keeps his eyes closed, waiting. He's not going to push her, but God, he wants this.

When she kisses him again, he hums in the back of his throat and slides a hand up into her hair. “Feeling better?” he murmurs when they part.

She smiles and runs her hand down his chest. “Much.”

This time, he pulls her down to him. He’s content to take things slow—it’s the first time they’ve been together in over six months, and he wants to make this _last_. Her body's warm where she's pressed against him, and she lets out a soft moan when he slips his tongue into her mouth. They're both breathless when they finally part, and Elena dips her head to trail her lips over his throat. Nate shivers when she nips at his pulse, his hands drifting across her back.

Elena tugs impatiently at his shirt; Nate sits up and pulls it off, then gently pushes her down to the bed. He kisses his way along her jaw, down to her neck, and Elena tangles her fingers in his hair to guide him where she wants. Nate smiles against her skin. He's happy to oblige. He slides a hand down her arm, planning to help her out of her shirt, but then Elena flinches away from him and he stops cold.

“What's wrong?” he asks, pulling away. Shit, it was her left arm. The bandages and stitches are gone, and she said she was okay but clearly that's not true.

Elena swallows hard and shakes her head. “Nothing,” she says. “I-I'm fine.”

He doesn't believe her for a second, and when she tries to pull him back down, he braces his arms on the bed and refuses to move. “It's not nothing,” he insists. “What's wrong?” He's not continuing until she tells him.

“I'm _fine._ ” She sounds angry, almost, and she won't meet his eyes.

“No, you're not,” Nate says. He starts to reach for her again, then lets his hand fall back to the mattress. “I don't want to hurt you--”

“You're not. You didn't.” Elena shakes her head again. “It's just-- god, this is gonna sound so stupid.”

Nate frowns. “I doubt that,” he murmurs.

Elena turns her head to the side, avoiding his gaze as much as she can without actually shutting her eyes. “I just-- it's-- they're not very attractive, is all,” she finally blurts out and shrugs her left shoulder to indicate the scars covering that side of her body.

He has no idea what to say to that. He might not be the best at this sort of thing, but he can read between the lines well enough. The scars aren’t attractive, and they’re a part of her, so… And yeah, the scars aren't pretty, he'd never say that (and she wouldn't believe him if he did), but they didn't ruin her. He just doesn't know how to make her see that.

“'lena...” Nate sighs, then leans down to nuzzle at her cheek, trying to buy himself a few more seconds so he can figure out what to do. Elena puts her hand on the back of his head, holding him close, and turns towards him. At this angle, he can't really meet her eyes properly, so he kisses her instead. She kisses him back, so that's some assurance that he didn't completely screw up.

She moves his hand back to the hem of her shirt, but he still hesitates, raises his head enough to meet her eyes. “Do you not want me to...” He trails off and waves his hand over her left arm. He'll understand if she'd rather not be reminded of the scars.

Elena sighs, frowning, then shakes her head. “It's okay,” she says. “I just need to not think about it so much.”

Nate smiles. That he can work with. “So, you need a distraction,” he murmurs, sliding his hand under her shirt. He ducks his head to kiss her collarbone. “That what you're saying?”

His hand reaches her breast, and she gasps, arches her back. “Y-Yeah,” she manages. “Something like that, oh, god...”

Well, that's a good sign. It's easy to lose himself in her, in the way her skin tastes, in the way she moves against him. Somewhere in there Elena pushes him back and pulls her shirt off, throws it across the room like it offended her somehow. Nate laughs, and there’s about a hundred different things he wants to do to her, but then he catches sight of a thick, jagged scar cutting just above her left breast and he goes cold for a second because God, she almost _died_. He kisses her hard and hopes she doesn't notice his hands shaking. It's hard to stop the thoughts of what could have been, how easily things could have gone differently, shrapnel flying at slightly different angles and he'd be in his bed alone, staring at the ceiling and sick with grief. But she's alive, and she's here, and she's grabbing a fistful of his hair to drag his mouth down to her breasts.

Much as he wants to concentrate on the foreplay, on how good it feels when her nails bite into his scalp, it's hard to forget how close he came to losing her when the evidence is literally centimeters from his face. Treating the scars like something horrible isn't going to help either of them, though. Nate glances up at her, then presses a kiss to the scar on her chest. Elena’s breath catches, and she tenses slightly, but she doesn’t pull back or push him away. He can feel her heart pounding, and he lets out a slow breath against her skin. The scars might be a reminder that she almost died, but they’re also proof that she survived. That’s the only way to get them, by living. Nate kisses her scar again, then lightly traces his tongue around the edges. In his experience—and he has a fair amount of it—while scars themselves don’t have any feeling, the skin around them can be much more sensitive.

Elena shivers, and Nate can feel the tension easing out of her. She rakes her nails down between his shoulder blades, and he groans, pushes up against her hands. He starts to work his way down her body and God, he wants her heels digging into his back and her hands twisted in his hair, wants the taste of her on his tongue, but before he can get much lower than her ribs she grabs his shoulders and tugs him back up. He gives her an utterly bewildered look before she kisses him, slow and thorough, her hands sliding down his arms.

“Want you to stay up here,” she breathes when they part.

Nate smiles and leans down to brush his lips against her ear. “Anything you want.”

She smiles back and turns her head to kiss him while she pushes one of his hands down to her hip. There's a bit of awkward squirming while he helps her out of her shorts and underwear-- it'd be easier if he'd just sit up, but taking his hands and mouth off of her is a little beyond him right now. Nate sheds his boxers while he's at it, then stretches out along her side, lets his hands wander over her body. Scars aside, she's just like he remembers, and he kisses along her jawline until he can capture her mouth with his. One hand drifts feather-light across her stomach, then dips between her legs.

Elena moans and drops her head back to the pillow. Nate keeps his touch light as he works his fingers over her, and he's pretty sure he could get off just from watching her, from her half-voiced gasps and the way she moves in response to him. He trails his mouth over her throat, his own breathing going ragged. Elena tangles her fingers in his hair and makes a frustrated whining sound. “Nate…”

He smirks against her skin, then slowly presses two fingers into her. Her hips come up off the bed, and her wordless cry shatters the near-silence in his room. “Oh, god, Nate,” she gasps, then her words disappear again into moans and cries half-caught in her throat as he slowly moves his fingers, spreading apart or gently thrusting in and out of her. Nate raises his head to watch her again, leans down to kiss her when he can't hold back anymore.

He can tell when she's starting to get close, and he kisses her again as he eases his fingers out of her. Elena whimpers and opens her eyes. Before she can say anything, though, Nate smirks and slips his fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean, and moans a little at the taste of her. Elena groans and grabs his shoulder, and as soon as he lowers his hand she captures his mouth with hers, her tongue pressing past his lips. She'd always _really_ liked the taste of herself on him, and Nate's pleased to find that hasn't changed.

Elena all but drags him on top of her, hooks one leg around his and wraps her arms around his neck. Nate settles one hand on her hip, but before they can get any further he remembers something fairly important. He growls in frustration and rolls off of her, grabbing at the nightstand drawer and hoping like hell he still has condoms in there. It's sort of been four months since he's checked.

She groans in annoyance, and Nate rolls his eyes. Ah, good. Found one. “Would you rather that neither of us remembered?” he asks, halfway sitting up so he can get the damn wrapper open.

“No,” she grumbles. “Responsibility is obnoxious sometimes, though.”

“No kidding.” That particular problem solved, Nate covers her body with his again; Elena wraps her legs around his waist and makes an impatient noise in the back of her throat. Nate huffs out a laugh and kisses her chin before he presses himself into her. She lets out a satisfied sigh, and he swallows hard, his eyes falling shut as he tries to pull together the tattered shreds of his self-control. But she's good, God, she's so good, she's amazing, she's one of the best things that's ever happened to him. “Oh, God, Elena, I--” _love you_ , “I missed you,” he breathes.

“I missed you, too,” she murmurs, and it's close, isn't it? Right number of syllables, right cadence, only a handful of letters off the mark. Maybe she knows what he means.

Maybe he's thinking too much.

Nate kisses her, deep and searching, and moves his hips against her. They fall into an easy rhythm, slow and gentle and so damn good. He trails kisses across every inch of skin he can reach while she runs her hands down his back. Elena pulls him down so she can press her face against the side of his neck; he gets an arm around her back to hold her closer, tries not to think about the scars he can feel under his fingers. They're a reminder that he almost lost her, that she almost died and that she survived, fear and relief and too many other emotions to name all tangled up and making his chest ache. Thinking too much, he tells himself. If there was ever a time to just stop--

He buries his face in her hair and picks up the pace, driving himself into her until she's gasping against him and digging her nails into his back. She's tense again, though for completely different reasons, and she rocks her hips against him, movements fast and uneven. “Nate,” she pleads, and he pushes himself up enough to see her, enough to slide a hand between them. She falls back against the pillows, one hand wrapped around the back of his neck while the other twists into the sheets. Nate bites his lip hard as he watches her come, shuddering and moaning his name.

She opens her eyes and gives him a dazed smile, then pulls him down again, capturing his mouth with hers, her tongue tangling with his. Nate groans and gives up on holding back, thrusts into her hard and fast until he's shaking apart in her arms. Elena still has her hand on his neck, and she holds him close even after they break off the kiss, their foreheads pressed together as they both try to catch their breath.

They stay like that for a few moments, then Nate sighs and slowly starts to disentangle himself from her. She whimpers a bit when he slides out of her, and he stops to kiss her again, soft and lingering on her mouth, quick on her nose. Then he reluctantly climbs out of bed and half-stumbles to the bathroom to clean up.

Elena's sitting up and looking around the room when he comes back. “Where are my clothes?”

“Clothes are overrated,” Nate declares and throws himself back onto the bed beside her.

She laughs and immediately cuddles up to him, her head on his shoulder and one hand on his chest. Nate wraps his arm around her and closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her fingertips drifting over his skin. He's pretty sure that his brain isn't operating at a hundred percent yet, and that's his excuse for why it takes him so long to notice that her touches aren't random. She's tracing over his scars, her fingers sliding from one to the next down his chest.

She stops when she reaches the brand-new bullet scar over his left hip. Nate opens his eyes and looks down at her, but at this angle he can’t see her face. She runs her fingers around the edges of the scar, then covers it with her palm. “Do they bother you?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “Not really,” he says. “I’ve had a lot of time to get used to them, though. And I didn’t pick these all up at once.”

Elena sighs. “I know they’ll fade,” she says. “And I know I shouldn’t let it get to me this much, but… I don’t know. I’m not quite used to the idea that this is what I look like, now.”

She sounds sort of resigned, he guesses, and Nate frowns. He cups the side of her face and tips her head up so he can kiss her. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs when they part.

The smile Elena gives him is sort of sad, and Nate’s not sure if he’s screwed up or not, but before he can apologize she resettles her head on his chest. “You’re sweet,” she says. He takes a breath to speak, and she keeps going. “I know, I know, it’s a dark and terrible secret that I must never tell another soul.”

He laughs, and he can feel her grinning. “You know me so well.”

Elena makes a faint sound of agreement but doesn't say anything else. Nate stares up at the dark ceiling, idly rubbing his thumb back and forth across her shoulder and listening to her breathe. Her hand eventually drifts back down to the bullet scar. “I should’ve been there,” she murmurs and covers the scar again.

“Elena--”

“If I’d been faster with the jeep, we could’ve…” She trails off and huffs out a frustrated breath. “You wouldn’t have almost bled out in a train wreck.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Nate says. She’d helped him far more than he could have expected or asked. What happened after he’d gotten on the train was his fault. Or Flynn’s. He’s happy to blame Flynn for a lot of things. Elena doesn’t respond, and he reaches out to gently turn her face up so she’s looking at him. “It’s not,” he says again once he’s met her eyes. “Don’t blame yourself for this.”

She sighs and nods, but Nate has the feeling that she doesn’t believe him. And she still looks… not exactly unhappy, but not happy, either. Which isn’t good. He wants her to be happy. He wants her to be happy with him, really. “You okay?” he murmurs.

Elena hesitates for a second before replying. “I will be,” she says, tightening her arms around him for a moment. “Don’t worry.”

Easier said than done, but he nods anyway. “Okay.” Nice as this cuddling is, Nate's never been comfortable sleeping on his back, so he carefully shifts around until he's lying on his side, his arms around Elena and her head tucked under his chin. He presses a kiss to her hair, then closes his eyes. She's right-- they're not quite okay yet, either of them. But they will be.


End file.
